


little piece of gasoline

by shuturmullet



Series: little pieces (a forever unfinished trilogy) [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, I'm back, In case you were wondering, Light Swearing, Trapped in an elevator, Wink wink nudge nudge, band!au, charachters are all of age, doctor pidge, family talks and hcs, i bet you thought you'd seen the last of me, improper use of original characters, little pieces, pidgance, pidge and lance, plance, someone please decide on a name and that be it, wait someone suggested flirtyrobot too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 07:38:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11824104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shuturmullet/pseuds/shuturmullet
Summary: Lance and Pidge's elevator's encounter leaves them with a bunch of questions and an absurd (but totally justifiable) need to see each other again.Fate delivers.





	little piece of gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> Before you start, this one-shot takes place after the events represented in [my first Plance fanfiction](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11290158), so I suggest you to start with that one, in case you haven't read it yet ^^
> 
> As usual, this was unbeta'd (I'm actually looking for someone to proof read my stuff, in case you're interested, hit me up). As usual, don't read if you're only going to hate on this ship. 
> 
> Enjoy.

**7:47am**  
  
In hindsight, none of this would have happened if Keith had agreed to let him cook.

As usual, when they were home alone together, they’d ended up ordering pizza, since Keith didn’t trust Lance’s cooking skills after he’d almost sent their van’s little kitchen on fire, ages before.

When the delivery guy had rung the bell, they’d met in the middle of the stairs and, on their way downstairs, Keith had pushed Lance, teasingly.

Lance had replied to enemy fire pouncing Keith a little too hard, on the wrong angle so that he not only lost his grip on the rail, he’d even flown on the other side and downward.

Despite how much Lance likes to take credit whenever something uncanny happens around him, this time, he didn’t do anything on purpose.

So, yeah, an accident.

God, Allura and her uncle Coran were right: they were really terrible at times.

Lance opens his eyes because he thinks he hears their voices.

The windows are slightly open and the air that comes from outside smells like rain.

Even if it’s not bright, there’s natural light in the room. He must have slept at least a couple of hours, because he could barely see a thing when he finally dozed off.

Keith is still asleep, with his messy mullet sprawled over the pillow, wearing the matching shirt and jorstens Lance had retrieved for him back at home.

A male nurse with an eyebrow piercing had come and gone, fixing drips and keeping himself at safety distance, because, apparently, word gets around fast here at Holt Clinic.

Keith’d napped most of the time but kept waking up during the night, grunting and mumbling something that really sounded like _I’m going to kill you, Lance, I swear I’m going to kill you!,_ but Lance isn’t sure.

He doesn’t care too much, either.

When someone knocks on the door, for a moment, Lance thinks he’s still dreaming.

His stomach twists in excitement. He props himself up, energetically.

“Are you lads decent?” a heavily accented female voice calls from outside.

Lance would recognize Allura’s voice anywhere, just like he recognize the scent of his mum’s fabric softener or Hunk’s aftershave.

It’s comforting and familiar, but Lance’s shoulders drop anyway.

He’s waited all night hoping to hear someone else knock at that door.

“Maybe they’re still sleeping?” someone else asks, and this time, it’s Hunk.

The door opens and the three remaining members of his adopted family reverse in the room.

Lance pops the joint of his back, cracks his neck and greets his friends with a sleepy smile, still a little disappointed.

It’s not like he isn’t happy to see them, because he really and sincerely is, he just thought it was someone else. Someone he might or might have not be completely obsessing about for the past six hours.

“Good morning, guys,” says Keith, and Lance turns to him because he didn’t notice him waking up.

Hunk looks like someone who’s had a busy night, and Shiro has Cuddle Hair. Lance doesn’t know which one he envies the most, until he realizes that Keith aside, his night hasn’t been that bad either.

He’d fallen asleep with Pidge’s amber eyes laughing at him.

Some crazy stuff, you wouldn’t like to know.

Hunk wraps Keith in a bear hug, carefully avoiding his injured arm and gives a squishier one to Lance who returns the squeeze. Hunk’s hug are great for the mood.

Allura waves at them with her fingers even if they’re a few feet apart, like she always does. It’s one of her peeves that Lance always welcomes with a military salute.

Shiro informs himself on their health status and places his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Are you guys ready to leave?”

“Yes, please.”

“No!” Lance yells, wiggling his whole body.

“No, what?”

“We can’t go home right now. We need to wait for Pidge!”

“Who’s Pidge?” Hunk asks, fingers entwined behind his head.

“She works here. She was in the elevator with me, last night. Her brother’s the doctor who casted Keith’s arm,” his grin deepens. “Keith’s got a crush on him.”

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith growls.

“It’s true.”

“You should have stayed in that elevator.”

“I’ll stick you in an elevator!”

“Guys,” Shiro scolds them, with a tone that could be interpreted as if he was always on the verge of a breakdown. “it’s not even eight in the morning.”

“Ten more minutes, please?” Lance begs, shoving off his pout, hands joined in front of him.

Shiro’s mouth draws a line. “Keith?”

Keith jiggles his free arm in desperation and casts them all a fuming glance. “Whatever.”

The conversation moves forward, peace returns as soon as it’s been bothered.

Lance keeps waiting.

Allura wraps her elbow around his and pokes at his ribs with her finger. “So, tell me more about Keith’s crush.”  
  
  
**8:10am**  
  
Pidge overslept.

“Ashoyashoyahoy!” she enters her brother’s office, all in a rush, with a half a donut jammed in her mouth. “I’m sorry.”

Matt meets her at the door. “What happened? I tried to call you all morning, but your phone was off.”

“I broke it in the elevator,” she explains, almost tripping over her own feet. “And I forgot to set my alarm.”

Her brain had kept her awake short hours, and if it wasn’t for the rumble of a thunder who woke her up, she’d still be sleeping.

Her bones feel still a little heavy. She passed out on the sofa, still wearing her bathrobe, hair damp and unbrushed, around two in the morning.

Pidge looks around, searching for the spare scrub she keeps in Matt’s office.

Her brother grasps it from behind the door, as if he read her mind, helps her slide it on and pats her shoulders. “There you go.”

“Thanks,” she says, taking a bite from her donut. “I sent you an email from my computer when I got home, did you get it?”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full. And you know I never check my emails.”

“You sound like mum,” Pidge protests, and swallows.

“And you look like mum,” Matt glances at her funnily, from head to toe. “No, seriously. You’re wearing a dress.”

“Yeah, so? I always wear dresses.”

“Not to come here, and never on week days.”

“You’re keeping tracks of what I wear, now? I’m surprised fashion police even hired you with that haircut of yours,” Pidge mocks him.

“Shut it. Wait…is that make-up on your face? Katie, is there something you’d like to tell me?”

“Geez, it’s just a little mascara, not a face tattoo.”

“You’re suspiciously too pretty for work.”

“Sexist. And inappropriate,” Pidge exclaims, on the defensive.

She feels herself blush as she finishes her breakfast. Matt precedes her out the office.

They greet a few colleagues, and Pidge hopes it’s just her awareness issues, because it seems like they’re all staring at her in a weird way.

They’re right to be a little shocked, of course.

Pidge loves her dresses and owns a Sephora fidelity card, but she’s pretty easy-going when it comes to her work outfit.

Normally, she’d put on a crinkled shirt and her most comfortable jeans, and be ready in no time, but not today.

Today, despite being thirty minutes late, Pidge spent an impressive amount of time in front of the mirror and with her head buried in her closet, trying to convince herlsef she was doing it for a good reason.

Today she needed to make a little extra effort to remind herself that the whole elevator situation actually happened and she hasn’t imagine it.

Matt smacks his forehead with his open palm, making her wince. “Oh my gosh, I know what this is!”

“Don’t scare me like that!”

He shamelessly ignores her. “It’s that guy, isn’t it? The one upstairs? What’s his name, again?”

“You mean Keith?” Pidge asks, tying her hair in a loose ponytail and speeding in front of the elevator, only to take a turn towards the stairs, instead.

“No,” replies Matt, panting lightly. He can keep the pace, but he’s possibly more out of shape than his sister is. “I know who Keith is.”

Pidge wrinkles her nose and leans on the banister, slowing down a little near the last top stairs. “You do?”

“Well, he’s a patient. Wait, I remember now. Was it Spence?”

She rolls her eyes. “Who’s Spence?”

“Keith’s friend, the guy from the elevator. You guys looked pretty cozy, last night. He stayed here all night, I think he hasn’t left yet.”

“His name is Lance,” Pidge stops a few steps away from Keith’s room. The door’s slightly open, so she lowers her voice a few tones. “And we weren’t cozy.”

Matt snickers. “He kissed your hand.”

“You saw that?”

“Nurse Jacobs told me,” her brother admits, avoiding her eyes. “And the cleaning ladies. And dad, when he came by earlier.”

“She told dad?!” Pidge screeches.

“If it’s of any consolation, they all agree it was about time you got someone.”

“Sometimes I really hate this place,” Pidge whines, shaking her head and hitting him with the chestpiece of her stethoscope.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s something I have to do,” Matt laughs, pinching her forearm. “See you later, sis. I’m sure Lance will love your dress.”

“Grow up, Matt,” Pidge complains, watching him depart, and inhaling deeply, she thinks that she should really start to man up and follow her own advice.  
  
  
**8:11am**  
  
Patience is not Hunk’s forte. He turns his big, brown eyes to Lance, sighing. “What time did this Pidge say she was coming?”

“She didn’t say it. She just said she would be here.”

“Man, I hope that’s soon. I’m hungry.”

“I know, Hunk, my dude. After I talk to her, we can go to Waffle House and get hash browns.”

Hunk lets out a low chuckle, mouth stretched in a smirk. “She must be really something, this girl.”

“She’s…great. Oh, and she’s a fan.”

“A fan?” Allura points her super-powered ears at their conversation. “Lance, do I have to remind you what happened the last time you got involved with a fan? That crazy girl told everybody you guys made out in the backstage of our concert even if it wasn’t true, then leaked private pictures on the internet. And she didn’t even like our band for real.”

“Yeah, she just wanted to promote her music channel,” charges Keith.

“Pidge is not like that,” Lance reassures them, smiling to himself. “And she definitely doesn’t have a music channel.”

“I don’t know, Lance,” Shiro admits, scratching the back of his neck. “You should be careful with this.”

What he means by that is: _you’re too frivolous to handle something of this scale, you’re going to screw it all up, again._

“I agree with Shiro,” Keith says from his bed.

“Of course you do,” Lance spits, annoyed.

“Guys,” Hunk calls for their attention. “Why don’t we, like, give this Pidge girl a chance and keep our judgment for later? If Lance says this time is different, I believe him.”

Allura giggles and even Keith cracks a smile.

Lance pats his hand on his best friend’s big bicep. “Hash browns _and_ Texas Melts?”

Hunk nods and grins broadly. “You read my mind, man.”

“You know it.”  
  
  
**8:12am**  
  
Pidge finds out a new fact about herself.

When she gets shocked, she drops something.

Yesterday it was her phone, today it’s Keith Kogane’s medical chart.

Five pairs of confused eyes and just as many heads turn to her as the papers fly all over the floor. Pidge would like to have packed a shovel with her stuff when she left home earlier, so she could dig a hole and shove herself in it, right now.

She knows it’s probably a stupidly exaggerated reaction; she knows these people in front of her are just human beings, who casually happen to be incredibly attractive and hugely talented, but humans nonetheless.

Can you blame her, though? She thought she was going to handle Keith without yelling or doing something more embarrassing, but all the four members of the Up In Space, and their beautiful manager in the same, 4x4 room? It would be too much for anyone.

In person, they’re even better.

Hunk’s smile is as easy-going as it seems on pictures, but it’s possibly warmer. Keith’s hair, despite being tousled, is silky and with bluette-like highlights.

Shiro is wearing a tight, dark grey sweater that seems like it was hand made for him. Pidge wonders if Tonia from the front desk is still alive.

Pidge picks up the scattered papers and lets out a soft “Hey.”

“Hello? Are you a doctor?” Allura’s skin glows flawlessly, as she steps towards her on her shiny high heels.

Pidge is trying not to make it obvious but she’s really about to implode.

“I’m an intern,” she replies and at the same time, she hears Lance say “She’s an intern.”

She notices him, across the room, with his flirty blue eyes roaming over her figure, arms loose at his sides. Somehow he’s changed, too.

He looks even more dangerous in the daylight.  
  
  
**8:14am**  
  
Shiro coughs and eyes between them curiously.

Pidge has pillow creases on one of her cheeks and her glasses are all clouded.

Lance knows what they were all expecting, and he knows what they’re seeing, instead.

Lance’s chest tightens, infinitely aware of her.

He’s like magnetically attracted to the soft, pink lines of her nose and ears, the curves of her wrists.

Along the square neckline of her dress, a spray of freckles pops up against the soft, white exposed skin.

Allura’s head tilts to the side, the ghost of a smirk on her pursed lips makes Lance feel like a little kid caught with his whole hand in the cookie jar.

They’ve been friends long enough to know that, in his mind, Hunk’s probably imagining the short young woman in front of them as a petty puppy who’s just learned to roll on demand, so he can’t even count on his best buddy, anymore.

Allura elegantly flips out her hand for Pidge to shake.

“Allura, band manager. I represent the Up In Space.”

“I know.”

“She knows.”

Their eyes meet, Pidge’s scowl intensifies. He really needs to stop talking over her, but he can’t help the teasing.

It’s his way of saying that nothing’s changed; that, in case she’s wondering, he’s still the person she’s met the day before.

Lance mocks her frowning expression and feels the need to physically stop his heart from fluttering when her frown gets replaced by an awkward lopsided smirk. She lets go of his gaze and Allura’s palm all at once.

“I’m Doctor Holt, but you can call me Pidge. I’m-I’m also a big fan of you guys, your music is great.”

Shiro seems delighted by her restraint as he half-bows at her. “Thank you, Pidge. We really appreciate that. Lance told us that your family runs the place. It’s really admirable what you guys do here.”

“It’s nothing special, really.”

“It’s always special when it’s for a good cause.”

Pidge swallows then professionally starts to explain her role in the clinic and how she’s here to visit their friend.

“Do we need to leave?” Hunk asks.

“Only if the patient wants it,” she assures.

“You guys can stay,” Keith says with a smile and Lance hears Pidge squeal.

He knows he has nothing to worry on his friend’s part, but she has her tiny hands around his head, over his arm, brushing the fingers that peeks from the cast, and it strangely doesn’t look like it’s bothering him.

It’s strangely bothering Lance, though.

She’s just doing her job, he keeps repeating himself, but he can’t help but clench his teeth when Hunk makes her laugh.

Or when she gets so involved in answering a question Shiro’s asked.

Or when she purposely avoids his eyes.

Her soft laugh chimes in the air once again, this time at one of Keith pathetic puns.

Allura chokes back an amused snort that Lance pretends to ignore.

He can’t keep his eyes off from Pidge’s face.

Lance knows he’s acting like a kid (a very selfish and paltry kid), but he craves her attention. He needs her to look at him.

He clears his throat.

Pidge subtly peeks at him from behind her glasses, a corner of her mouth curls for a split second.

It’s barely something, but a small bite is all it takes for Lance.

Along with the way she moves her shoulders and fidgets with her hands, it’s like a confirmation.

Something in the way she breaths, when their eyes meet, tells him that she didn’t wear that super cute lilac dress to impress Keith.  
  
  
**8:16am**  
  
Pidge hates that her phone had to break right today, because she’d like to have tangible proof of this glorious moment her good star has provided her.

She someway manages to keep a straight face while touching Keith’s head to search for remote pain. His face is so close she could count his long, black eyelashes if only she wasn’t so pulled by Lance’s silent presence behind her.

She distracts herself and tests Keith’s memory with multiple questions, and learns that his favorite song ever is Fascination Street by The Cure; making fun of it seems like a recurring meme in the group. Pidge doesn’t join but she has some ideas in mind that will definitely make them proud.

They’re all nice and everyone is super chill.

Shiro sits on a chair, and Allura flops on his lap. Hunk picks up a tongue depressor from the dispensary and taps it against the tip of his nose.

Lance stays on the side, thumbing away on his phone, and sometimes he would throw a glance in her direction, smiling when he catches her staring first, that makes the hair on the nape of her nack stand up.

It seems like he enjoys catching her left-handed, but she honestly serves herself to him on a silver platter.

Stupid Lance.

Pidge forces her eyes away and looks down at Keith.

“So,” she takes a deep breath and fixes the glasses on her nose. “it doesn’t look like there’s a permanent damage, and I think you’re free to leave, but I suggest you consult Doctor Holt –well, the other Doctor Holt, too. He’ll also tell you what to do with your arm. His office is downstairs, it’s the one with a blue door.”

“Thanks, Pidge,” Keith says, and for a moment Pidge is surprised at how calm she is.   

“No problem,” she smiles and turns to the others. “It was a pleasure meeting you guys.”

Allura waves at her from where she’s sitting on Shiro’s thigh. Hunk gives her double thumbs up.

Pidge doesn’t dare looking at Lance, because she won’t be able to say goodbye, just now.

She nods and makes her way to the door, even if she’d like to stay for at least three different reasons.

Outside, a thunder shakes the planet.  
  
  
8:21am  
  
For what he remembers, Lance has always loved thunderstorms.

When he was a kid and the sky reversed itself on Earth, he used to sit on a scrappy wicker chair that his great grandfather had crafterd during the war, and just looked up at the angry clouds, pretending he was up there, tossed around by the fury of the wind.

Pidge leaves the room with one last glance in his direction and Lance feels like when he was little and rain always came with absence of gravity.

His dreams were so innocent back then.

Hunk helps Keith with his stuff, Allura nuzzles Shiro’s forehead tuft and helps herself on her feet.

Shiro gives her jean clad thigh a little squeeze then imitates her.

Lance sees him smile.

“Well,” he starts, sounding like someone who’s about to say something embarrassing. “That was not what I expected.”

Keith weirdly ~~but not really~~ agrees. Hunk smirks and scratches his ear. “Yeah, Pidge seems nice.”

Lance gives them all the universal sign of “I told you so” and waits till the door is closed at their backs to speak again. “So…I’ll meet you guys in the doctor’s office in five?”

Allura slowly shakes her head, smiling the whole time.

Shiro sighs, but his eyes are understanding.

“Make it ten,” Keith bumps Lance’s shoulder with his good one. “She doesn’t seem that desperate.”  
  
  
**8:21am**  
  
As soon as she reaches the ground floor, Lance runs behind and slightly past her, his loud steps echoing in the empty hall.

He brings with him a whiff of cold air and a trail of his perfume.

Pidge inhales a little too deeply; it leaves an aftertaste of citrine in the back of her throat.

She is aware that she is not supposed to be able to recognize his scent, less alone let it make her so bothered, but there’s not much she can do at this point. 

It’s all his fault for smelling so good, so early in the morning.

“Good morning, princess,” Lance chirps, wielding his arms in an exaggerated knightly-ish gesture.

Pidge cringes a little at the nickname and gives him a friendly punch on the shoulder. “Don’t call me that ever again.”

“Sorry. Hey, it was nice seeing you at work. Your patients must love you.”

Pidge can’t understand if he’s being sarcastic or not.

“Not really. How are you, today?”

He scoots closer, their hands brushing in the process. He flickers her a wild grin, his signature one, the one that stretches his mouth and makes one of his eyebrows rise.

Pidge looks anywhere but in his direction.

At least Nurse Jacobs’s shift ended a few hours ago and she’s not here to tell everybody about the way her face goes hot and probably redder than a fire extinguisher whenever a certain guy is involved.

“I’m great. What about you? Did you sleep well?”

“I’ve had worse nights,” she replies, because it was true. “Thank you for telling Shiro about our cause, by the way.”

“Shiro is a softie, his heart melts when it comes to people in distress. Speaking of Shiro, I’m surprised at how well you handled it, in there. I thought you were going to freak out.”

“You would have liked that, wouldn’t you?” she giggles, deciding to go for the truth. “To be honest, I wasn’t as nervous as I thought I would be.”

“Do I make you nervous?” he purrs, sliding at her side.

“Only when you act like a flirty douche,” she rebuts, looking around for a functioning pen. “No offense.”

“Offense fully taken,” he chuckles, then lowers his voice, placing himself in front of her. The tips of their shoes are only an inch apart. “What time does your shift end?”

“In six hours,” she replies, swallowing a heavy knot and shoving her nose into the pile of papers she’s scribbling over.

“Do you have plans after work?”

Pidge shrugs a little. “I’m probably going to the mall to get a new phone. Mine broke, in case you forgot.”

“Mind some company?” he smirks and one of his hands reaches out to move away a lack of hair from her forehead. His fingers graze the side of her face that goes instantly on fire.

Pidge stills and not only because of the sudden touch.

Matt’s timing is fantastic.

He pops up from behind the corner, hands tucked in the pockets of his scrub, glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose.

Pidge is never been happier to see him.

“Hi, guys. Lance, is everything okay? Your friends are in my office if you’re looking for them.”

“Hey, Doc. Yeah, I know, I’m here for…” and he motions towards Pidge with his head. “Personal reasons.”

“I see,” Matt nods, slowly, blinking a couple times and turning to her. “If you need to go, it’s okay. There’s not much to do here, anyway.”

Pidge makes a face. “I already skipped class, I’m not wasting the rest of the morning.”

“Nobody ever died for taking a day off, Katie.”

She doesn’t need to look at him to know that Lance is probably laughing at her back.

She’s never going to hear the end of this.

Pidge would laugh at Matt’s discomfort if she didn’t feel the same way.

“Shit, Matt, you blew my cover,” she whines, busted.

“What?”

“Forget it. I’m not going anywhere, okay? I have things to do. I can go out later,” she declares and turns to Lance, speaking a little softer this time. “I’ll be done around four if you still want to come with me.”

Part of her is hoping he’ll change his mind and just dump her then and there because that’d be easier to handle.

But Pidge hasn’t forgotten who she’s dealing with, and, of course Lance McClain would never waste a chance to look cool.

She pushes him aside, lightly, more to suffocate an internal need of putting her hands on him than to actually move him away from her face.

He gives her a Cheshire cat grin in return, as if he’s enjoyed the small contact as much as she did.

“I’ll be here at three-thirty.”  
  
  
**4:01pm**  
  
Pidge raises one of her evil eyebrows. “Three-thirty, uh?”

She’s sitting on the sidewalk, luckily still waiting for him outside the clinic.

She fits perfectly in this rainy mood. It looks like she belongs to the damp soil and running rivers.

Lance trips on his shoelaces.

He kneels at her level to tie his shoe, catching a glimpse of her annoyed eyes behind her glasses. “It wasn’t my fault. Shiro gave me a ride here and he drives like an old lady.”

“You know, one day all this buck passing is going to backfire on you big time.”

“Whatever, _Katie_ ,” he snickers at his own snarky remark and stands up, helping her up on her feet, as well.

“I knew you couldn’t let it go,” she protests and leaves the hand he’s offered painfully soon. “Come on, say it. Get it out of your chest.”

“I have not much to say,” he replies, but it doesn’t mean he won’t ask any more questions. “Is it a short for something?”

“Nope, just Katie.”

“It suits you and I like it, but I like Pidge more.”

She looks at him right in the eyes, careful, searching. Lance hopes she finds whatever it is she’s looking for in there, because he’s going to be giving her nothing but truths.

“So, you still need to go to the mall?”

“That was the plan. You said Shiro drove you here, right? We can take my car.”

He follows her through the parking lot. A few solitary raindrops punter the shoulders of his jacket when Pidge stops in front of an absurd ensemble of plump metallic parts. It looks like a vehicle from Back To The Future II, but it’s more compact and rounded and the black fenders and mirrors give it a sort of manga-like aura.

“Ta-da!” she sing-songs, including jazz hands.

Lance narrows his eyes.

“This is your car?”

“What’s that look for? I had it reconverted. Or do you have a problem with foreign cars?”

“It’s not the car I have a problem with. It’s its color.”

“It’s green.”

“It’s _mint_ _green!”_ he exclaims, half horrified, half in awe of how cute she looks all offended like this. “It looks like an Easter egg.”

“Green is a great car with a great personality.”

“Why am I not surprised that you’ve named your car?”

“Enough!” she exclaims, and the cool wind plays with her ponytail. .

“Ok, I’ll stop. Don’t hurt me,” Lance raises both his palms up in surrender.

She’s barely four-foot-nine on her tootsies, but she’s way above him. Unreachable, out of his grasp, just as big and loud as like the storm.

She flashes him a smug grin, unlocks the doors and sits on the front seat, sparing him another scowl.

He takes the passenger’s place, fasting his seatbelt.

The booth is clean, it smells like raisin bread and Pidge’s shampoo.

She pushes the black pedal and reverses out in the road.

“You know, there’s something sexy in a woman who knows how to drive a stick,” he says, before he can stop himself.

She keeps her eyes planted on the road in front of her, but he watches her squirm on her seat.

“That was smooth, uh?”

“Shut. Up.”  
  
  
**4:18pm**  
  
The engine of her car is so silent that the rain sounds like a waterfall against the windshield, and it gives a warm kind of background to their voices.

They’re a mile a minute, fast with their wit and sharp with their tongues.

Pidge would admit it only under torture, but he could totally give her a run for her money when it comes to weirdness, and the more time she spends with Lance, the more she finds herself wanting to know everything about him.

They talk about everything and nothing, and the sky starts pouring down.

When she tosses him jokes, possibly at his expenses, he blends and sends them back to her with a smile that she’s unfortunately growing to like more than she probably should.

Conversation with Lance is comfortable, but not always safe, Pidge discovers.

One moment he’s being an insufferable shitface, the other she has pull over the car because she’s laughing so much she barely sees the road between the tears.

Hell, were the papers wrong.

When she first mentions his family, he goes all mushy and proud.

From his words, Pidge understands that the feeling is mutual, and that Lance’s parents and siblings must love and spoil him a lot even now that he’s a grown up man.

Lance tells her that he’s learned to sing from his mum, that his sister Johanna and her husband work at the _Delfinario_ , and that one of the things he loves the most in the world is swimming with dolphins.

It’s an interesting view and it pushes Pidge to confesses she didn’t enjoy her solo trip to Tokyo, and that she likes living by herself.

“I had a roommate, Emily Barrett-Cavanaugh, but she got married and moved away a few months ago. I don’t mind living alone, though, there’s nobody who tells me to pick up my pants from the living room.”

“One week with my family would make you reconsider that. I’m still convinced Aunt Marina stole my tank top, once.”

“What was it like, living with so many people?”

“Crowded,” he smiles, fondly. “But it’s good to know we have each other’s back all the time.”

Pidge smirks by herself, because it’s a weird feeling whenever she discovers that they have more things in common than probably both of them had thought.

“You must miss them a lot,” she says, left hand wrapped around the wheel.

“I do. Unfortunately I can’t be home much, but I make sure to call my niece and nephew every night before they go to sleep. I’m their favorite uncle.”

Pidge has no doubt about that, but sees no reason in agreeing out loud, so she keeps driving.

When he goes for the radio, she smacks his hand away before bringing it back on the stick shift, with a pounding heart.

“Ouch! Why would you do that?”

“My car, my radio privileges,” she barks, guiltily.

In truth, she’s pretty sure that there’s still the Up In Space cd inside the stereo and she’s not ready to know how Lance is going to react to that.

He must read something in the way her jaws clench because, almost by instinct, his hand slides between the seat and the door and it fishes something that really looks like the plastic cover of the album out the compartment.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” he winks, dangling the penguin-shaped air freshener hung on the rearview mirror. “Can we listen to the radio, now?”

His voice is so low that it gives her goose bumps. “Do what you want.”

He bends forward, pressing play and settling on a hard rock station.

Her fist tenses around the stick, she feels the fabric on the knee of his ripped jeans brush against her knuckles.

In the back of her mind forms a scenario in which she pulls over for the umpteenth time, only this time is to grab him by the collar of his jacket and kiss the contentment off his face.

He laughs quietly.

Pidge hopes he didn’t read that one off her face, too.  
  
  
**4:31pm**  
  
The mall is a little out of the main roads, slightly too desert for a Thursday.

Lance silently thanks Pidge for her prudence and, even if he takes up the hood of his jacket, he discards his sunglasses before they walk in through the creaky sliding doors.

Pidge tells him the locals call it the Space Mall, because the proprietary, a Serbian middle-aged man with a very bad case of ear hairs called Zarkon, looks like an ugly, furry alien.

“Dad and I used to come here every weekend when I was a kid. It’s like a second home to me.”

When he makes a face she calls him a stiff necked fool _(“Did you just quote Bob Marley?”_ ) and assures him they have a nasty place where they sell the best technologies, in here.

They enter the store. A bored preppy girl stands on the cash desk, trimming her claws, but her face lites up under her blue-black mane of wavy hair, when she sees them coming in.

Preppy Girl –Ariel, her name tag reads- walks towards them, almost bouncing on her feet.

He’s gotten used to people getting worked up by his presence. And it’s not about being vain, really. It’s about the affection. Lance requires it, whether it’s short-lived or paper-thin genuine.

She stretches her arms and he bends down imperceptibly, because he’s ready.

He always is.

Only he finds himself with a hugful of nothing, as Ariel charmingly dribbles him and turns her full body to Pidge. “Hey, it’s good to see you! Been months since the last time you’ve been here.”

Mouth ajar, Lance turns to his left, where the sandy-haired girl’s ears have turned bright pink.

“Yeah, I’ve been busy.”

“How can I help you?”

It’s clear as day that he’s not part of that _you_ and Lance finds it adorable, until he notices that Ariel is looking at Pidge with sparkly eyes that could definitely match his own.

“She needs to buy a phone,” he says, his voice creaking on the last syllables.

Ariel giggles and her eyelids flutter as she chaperons them to the communication aisle.

The two girls chatter a little, and even if Ariel is professional enough to involve him in their conversation, it’s obvious that she’s all about the smaller girl.

Lance studies her reactions as nother customer comes in and Ariel excuses herself, but not before flashing Pidge another one of her flirty smiles.

Lance snorts, not loudly, but with enough passion to catch her attention.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

He bites his lip to suppress a grimace. “She was flirting with you while I was right here!”

“What? You’re mad that I stole your scene? You can’t handle a little competition?”

“Dude, I don’t care if you’re a man or a woman, you don’t hit on my girl in front of me. That’s disrespectful.”

“You know what’s disrespectful? Posting pictures of yourself wearing nothing but flash yellow speedos on Instagram, is disrespectful,” she crosses her arms on her chest, but her mouth twitches as if she was struggling not to laugh. “Also, I’m not your girl.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Katie,” his hip hits hers, she swings a little out of balance.

“You’re such a caveman,” she declares, fondly, as Ariel comes back to them.

Pidge returns herself almost immediately.

When she starts rumbling about hard disks and _dual quad core_ laptops _with 2.8 gigahertz processors_ , he loses track a little. He learns that she knows everything about everything, and even if he understands maybe half of what she’s saying, he listen, grateful, because he likes this side of her as much as he likes the sound of her voice.

Just how it’s expected from her character, she takes forever to pick a new phone.

Lance is patient enough not to sigh too many times whenever she chooses one only to retreat and doubt it in favor of another model, all in the span of a few minutes.

“This one is _the_ _one_ ,” she exclaims shoving the phone in his face.

“Sure it is,” he repeats, for the umpteenth time.

“Heck yeah it is,” she agrees, but she’s already changing her mind. “You know what? I’ll just check the other options another time. Just to prove a point.”

“Of course.”  
  
  
  
**5:22pm**  
  
A painfully long hour later, Pidgeends up getting the same kind of phone she already possessed. Lance is enough of a gentleman not to yell at her face, but he makes sure to let her know how much she’s going to pay for this, as they head to the cover case section.

Pidge observes the various merch. Lance pats her elbow, branding Captain America trademarked earphones like a sword. It stings and it makes her wince, but it also makes her aware of his presence.

He’s still here.

Pidge thinks that if this ‘whatever it is they’re doing’ doesn’t work out properly, it will definitely have something to do with this afternoon of phone shopping. She doesn’t even know why he puts up with her.

“Why are you still here?” she asks, carefully, because sometimes she really can’t let go, sometimes the effort of keeping her filters up and working is too much.

Lance clearly turns with a mouthful of wonders, but she’s sure he caught the meaning of her ambiguous question.

“Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

He bites at the inside of his cheek, pondering his answer. “You kinda remind me of my mum. Take it as a compliment.”

Pidge’s entire face shrinks. “It was a very weird compliment.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I can assure you you look nothing like my mum.” he laughs, covering his face with his open palm. “I just wanted to say that it’s good to spend time with someone who never judges me for being myself.”

“Sometimes I do judge you. I still haven’t forgotten you for the flash yellow speedo episode.”

“But you never do it behind my back.”

She can’t help but agree.

She feels the need to be completely and emotionally bare to him, which, in Pidge’s case, isn’t always a good thing to do.

Deep down, in her subconscious, there are probably microscopic engines and well-oiled wheels spinning faster than faster, labelling the whole thing as a lesson she’ll definitely have to learn a lot from.

It will undoubtedly involve a broken heart. Most likely to be hers.

Pidge shrugs it off and avoids his eyes.

She picks a random cover case –she’ll come back and trade it for one it suits her needs better in another moment when Lance isn’t around-, and heads to the counter.

Lance scratches his thigh. “Are you okay, Pidge?”

Pidge really should stop forgetting that behind his lanky looks and his cocky grins, there’s a man who knows when and where to play his cards.

“Let’s get out of this place,” she says, winking at him. “Can we please stop at the videogame store for a moment? There’s a game I absolutely need to try.”

“Will it take another hour?” he murmurs, terrified.

“I like taking it slow, okay,” Pidge answers, so honestly she almost misses the redness that starts spreading on Lance’s cheeks and the smile that divides his face in two halves.

_Katie Holt, Aries, self-proclaimed queen of clumsy innuendos. Claims discovering the art of unintentional flirting._

Pidge wonders if it’s still raining outside, and makes sure to smile directly at Lance when Ariel awkwardly half-hugs her goodbye.

He’s still there, still smiling.

A pretty smile like his is almost worthy a broken heart.  
  
  
**6:10pm**  
  
Lance thinks back at his dusty Wii back at his parents’ home. He adores videogames, but he’s never met someone, especially not a girl, who worships them the way Pidge does.

To his delight, Pidge just spent the last forty-five minutes hypnotizing the game store’s customers with her nerdy ramblings.

Lance is pretty sure that she wasn’t even aware of the stares people were sending her way, too busy commenting the various games and consoles, and that made her even more precious.

She keeps the swishing packages hugged to her chest, hopping around like she’s just jumped out of a Grimm fairytale. The view, from behind, is incredibly endearing.

She’s humming to herself, off-key, and he recognizes the tune as “Piano Man” by Billy Joel, one of his sister Cristina’s favorite songs.

“You really like all this tech-o-stuff, uh?” Lance says, keeping her pace.

“Yes, I do like this _tech-o-stuff_ ,”

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for an XBOX type.”

“I own a PS4, too, but you can’t play Halo with that,” Pidge explains as a matter of fact.

“True,” he agrees, while is brain is on the verge of reaching a new level of brain boner-ness.

She smiles, barely keeping a yawn. “I could use a coffee right now.”

Lance leans to the side. “Rough night?”

“Something like that,” she jokes and nods towards a bar with her head. “Come on, I’ll treat you for Frappuccino, smart boy.”

“You think I’m smart?”

“Of course. You’re a clown, but your brain’s fine,” she states as they join the line. “Don’t listen to people saying you’re just comic relief.”

Lance wrinkles his nose. The woman in front of him nonchalantly eyes them as she waits for her turn. Him? Comic relief? “No way people say that.”

“Trust me, they do.”

“But not my fans.”

“ _Especially_ your fans.”

They step ahead in unison, one order closer to their coffee. “Speaking of fans, can I ask you a question?”

“No.”

“Whose your favorite UIS member?”

“I believe I said no.”

“I mean, I know you could be biased but-“

“That’s such a dumb question, honestly.”

His stomach rumbles. Lance doesn’t know what to blame: the smell of French roast coffee or the sight of Pidge’s neck skin. “Come on, answer me. I’m not gonna think you’re humoring me if you say it’s me.”

“One, it’s not you,” she snaps and he pouts. “And two, I’m not really comfortable talking about this with you.”

“Why so?”

“Because you’re like…famous?” she says, as if it should not only be obvious, but also a decent reason.

“Are you intimidated by me?”

“No! I mean…not really. I know you don’t split atoms to live and all but, you know…I go to sleep every night wearing shirts with your face on the front.”

Everything from his chest to his toes tightens and pleasantly hurts.

They trade an amused look and Pidge shoves her new phone deep inside her shoulder bag. Her limbs drop to her sides, one of her hands brushes the hem of his jacket.

Lance feels brave.

He snatches it somewhere in the middle of a little crowd and she looks at him with questioning eyes only for a moment before entwining her fingers with his.

“I caught you.”

She rolls her eyes but gives his hand a little squeeze. “Are you aware that every time you open your mouth you sound like bad fanfiction?”

“What’s wrong with fanfictions?”

“You read that stuff?”

“You don’t?”

“My level of caffeine is too low to be having this conversation, right now,” she laughs, planting her free palm in his face.

“So, who’s your favorite?”

“Allura, definitely Allura.”

“She’s not even in the band!” he protests, voice muffled by her fingers.

When he pretends to lick her palm, she takes her hand away, insulted. Lance swings their joined arms as if they were play-play buddies and she mumbles to herself.

He knows the whole _you-look-like-my-mum_ thing had been a hazarded move, but Lance is glad he told her.

He likes that her palm is a little sweaty in his, it makes her feel more tangible.

More real and less like a hallucination of his mind.

It’s their turn and Pidge orders.

He sees her peek in his direction from the corner of his eye. He gives her a few more moments to think she’ll go away with checking him out like that, and then he turns to her with a stupid grin.

She turns away and then she bursts out laughing. Lance does too.

He laughs a lot with her.  
  
  
**6:27pm**  
  
Their hands stay entangled as they receive their coffees, they only separate long enough for Pidge to fish some coins from her parka’s pockets, since she insisted on paying.

Caffeine does miracles to her spirit. She’s high on sugars and on Lance’s voice.

If they weren’t closing, Pidge feels like she could walk the aisles of this mall forever, just talking to him.

“What should we do now?” she asks him.

“Are you hungry? You still owe me a dinner if I recall correctly.”

“I didn’t specifically talk about dinner, but I could eat.”

They turn the corner and Pidge clashes right into some poor unfortunate peasant who’s clearly in a rush.

The cap of her drink pops off and her drink spills all over her dress front.

The stranger, jumps back immediately, so his starched white shirt stays immaculate.

“I’m really sorry, miss,” he apologizes in a familiar British accent, and Pidge chokes on her spit.

She moves her hurt gaze from the giant stain on her chest to Lance, then to him.

Oh.  
  
  
**6:28pm**  
  
Lance has a problem.

“Katie is that you?”

A pint-sized, kinda buff, polo-wearing, kind of problem.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asks, eyes planted on the front of her dress where the damage is bigger.

“I’m okay,” Pidge answers. It’s clear that they know each other, and they’re probably on food terms, too, but she says her words quietly, almost diplomatically. “It was iced-coffee.”

He nods his head , fixing the sweater over his shoulders, flashing Lance with the giant clock face of the watch around his wrist. “It’s good to see you.”

“I thought you were in New York.”

“I’m here for a couple days. You know, family reunion.”

They look intimate, like two people who’ve grown up together or who’ve seen each other naked, but they don’t act like it.

Pidge’s teeth sink in her lower lip. She looks caged so Lance tries to make her at ease by stepping back a few inches. It works and he feels better, too.

“How’s your step-brother?” she asks, still polite, but a little more wary now.

“He’ll be ten soon. He talks about you a lot,” he says and then glares over at Lance. Lance, who’s always up for a pissing contest between dudes, stares back with a challenging spark in his eyes.

The more he looks at him, the more this guy reminds him of one of those evergreen and super stereotyped hipster elders who wear Zara and are tanned all year. He doesn’t stand a chance.

“Tell him I said hi,” Pidge says then waves her hands back and forth between them. “Danny, this is my friend Lance. Danny and I went to the same college.”

“We were also together,” Danny corrects and Lance cringes when he hears the tone of his voice.

Pidge buttons up her coat and avoids both their eyes, swallowing. He must have been one hell of a shitty boyfriend if he can’t realize how much his tactlessness is making Pidge uncomfortable.

Whoever this Danny Guy is, and despite whatever sort of history he and Pidge might have had in the past, there’s at least one thing sure: he’s still interested.

He wonders how she feels about him and he almost shivers, sickened.

There’s a reassuring crease in between Pidge’s brows. Under different circumstances, he would have worried about it, but now he’s thankful it’s there.

Danny jostles his chiseled features to him. His eyebrows are blonde and thick over his baby blue eyes, and his skin is reddish at the sides of the nose.

“Wait, I’m not interrupting something, am I?”

Lance snorts. “We’re in the middle of a date.”

Both Danny and Pidge pin him on his place with a shocked expression. “You are?”

“We are?”

“Of course we are. What did you think this was?”

He understands her confusion. This is not his usual first choice of an ideal date, either, but he likes it this way. He likes that she adores videogames, he likes that he doesn’t have to bypass his words to get her to take him seriously, to make an impression. Most of all, he likes that he didn’t have to plan any of this in advance, because it wouldn’t have been this awesome.

Lance suspects being with Pidge is like this: out of the ordinary and effortless.

Danny curls his lips, as if he’s just sucked a lemon. “This is your type, now?”

Lance points his finger guns at him. “What an achievement, amirite?”

Pidge snags his hands away and close them between hers. Her mouth curves in a smirk and he doesn’t move away.

“Well, I should go, now,” Danny furrows his caterpillar eyebrows and pumps his chest. “Take care, Katie.”

Pidge nods and she looks more comfortable with him saying her name, now. “You too.”

Lance’s arm snakes over her shoulder. “See ya around.”

“Bye, Larry.”

Lance, mouth agape, lets Pidge twirl him around and jerks on his feet so that they now have both their backs at Danny. And Danny, possibly for himself, has his back at them.

Pidge snugs closer, her forehead gently pressed to the nook of his throat.

It’s a bit weird and difficult to walk like this, with their feet that keep entangling and all, but he doesn’t want to let her go just yet.

“You were very rude to Danny,” she giggles.

“He called me _Larry_.”

“My brother called you Spence, this morning.”

“At least that rhymes. Do you want another coffee? My treat this time.”

“No, I’m fine. My dress is a mess, though,” she whines against his collarbone. “You want to leave?”

“Okay.”

They step outside and Lance is hit by the smell of freshly fallen rain.

He breathes in, comforted by the still leaden sky. When he drops his head back down, he spots Danny on the other side of the parking lot, helping a pregnant woman inside a black Audi.

“Who’s that?” he asks Pidge, and she’s surely looking in the same direction because she scoffs before speaking.

“Emily Barrett-Cavanaugh. The wife.”

“How do I know this name?”

“I told you earlier,” she pauses. “She was my roommate.”

“Jesus Christ. What happened?”

“It’s a long story. Kind of lame, actually. You don’t want to know about it, trust me.”

“I want to,” Lance protests, but it’s a half victory.

“I’ll tell you later, then,” she says, with a sneer in her voice. When they reach Green, they’re still connected by their sides. When he goes to step back she presses her nose against his sternum and lets out a small sigh. “Give me a sec, okay?”

He pulls her closer. “I’m ready when you are.”

And he means it, in every possible sense of the word.

Lance is sure that, at some point, they’ll have to decide what to do with all of this conscious touching and longing glances, and have a discourse that both of them will hate, but that is necessary in cases like this.

He shuts his mouth, containing the damage.

It’s just good that she can’t see his eyes. 

It must be the thrill of the moment, but right now, in his arms, she totally feels like someone he could even fall in love with.  
  
  
**6:41pm**  
  
“Ok, I’ve got to ask,” Lance starts, fidgeting with the stereo buttons. “What were you even thinking dating that tool for two years?”

“I was young, I was stupid.”

“It was eight months ago. I’m really disappointed in you, Pidge. I thought you were the smart one, here.”

Pidge shrugs, driving right through a puddle. “There’s nothing smart about feelings.”

“That bad, uh?”

“I’m not sure I really loved him, to be honest, but it hurt just the same. Emily and I weren’t even that close, but it was different with Danny.”

Danny broke up with her on a day like today, when the sky was just as angry as she was. He spilled the truth after one too many mojitos and had the nerve to put all the blame on her.

She still remembers the fake tears in his eyes and the red skin of his forehead as he’d rattled off his pathetic reasons, empathizing on the fact that Pidge was too busy being the school’s freshman genius kid to pay proper attention to their relationship.

He thought that feeling a little neglected excused him from sleeping with his roommate and knocking her up on the same month.

He didn’t even apologize.

If Pidge hadn’t been so offended by the audacity he’d showed, she probably would have just laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

She’d had suffered long enough to create a new pack of Skyrim mods and, once the last code was entered, she’d long from ran out of tears and will to mope over Danny and his bullshit, and moved on.

Cherry on top, later, talking to a common friend, she discovered that that wasn’t even the first time Danny had cheated on her. There had been multiple girls, multiple lies, the first one barely two months after their first serious date.

When she tells Lance, he growls under his breath. “I wanna punch him in the face.”

“Permission denied, cadet,” Pidge laughs, but it’s good to know they’re on the same page. The car stops at a red light and she turns to him. “Can you please decide on a song?”

He grins and from the speakers comes out an old classic. “Pidge?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you really own shirts with my face on the front?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

She hears him suck in a breath and pushes her feet on the pedal when the light turns green.

“So, what should we do now?” Lance asks, sprawled on the passenger seat as if he belongs there.

“I know we agreed on dinner but I can’t go anywhere like this,” she points out, wrinkling her nose. “I smell like Starbucks.”

“It’s okay, I’m not that hungry.”

“I live a few miles away from here,” Pidge says, coughing a little, eyes on the road, hair sticky with coffee and mouth salivating. “We could stop at my apartment before we head to the restaurant.”

As expected, Lance’s inappropriate smirk makes its appearance once again and Pidge thinks it’s weird that she can anticipate his reactions after knowing him for barely a handful of hours. “I’d like to see your place.”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get weird ideas. We’re only going to stop there the time of a shower.”

He nods, and loses himself in the next song.

“I can’t believe Danny did that to you.”

“I think you think too much of me. I wasn’t the best of girlfriends, either. I mean, sometimes I forgot to wash my hair and I spent all my money on band merch and tech stuff I don’t even use on a regular basis. I still do,” she shakes her head. “I’d also pick videogame night over club night, a thousand times.”

“I’m sorry, Pidge, but this doesn’t help your case.”

She looks at him from the corner of her eye. He’s got his chin propped up on his palm, a dreamy face and a nice profile.

They’re almost home. When a new song starts, Pidge wonders if he’d find it weird if she asked him to sing for her.  
  
  
**6:59pm**  
  
Pidge lives close to her college campus, but right outside of it, in a nice neighborhood complete with ice-cream parlors, flower shops and people jogging with their dogs.

It doesn’t look like a place she might have picked by herself, but Lance likes the relaxed atmosphere.

Pidge parks the car in front of a large, grey building and she leads the way to its security doors.

“My brother and I inherited the place from our grandmother when she passed away. Matt still lives with our parents, so he let me keep it,” she explains and Lance follows her towards and up the stairs, wondering if she’s avoided the elevator on purpose.

She lives on the second floor. Her name is carved on a small plate pinned to the dark wood, and right beside it, Emily Barrett-Cavanaugh’s name has been scratched out and replaced with an all caps _FUCKADOODLE_ made with a sharpie.

It doesn’t look recent, but you still can feel the passion the author’s put in it.

 _This_ is more like Pidge.

She produces a key but doesn’t put it in the lock.

Her shoulders drop and it’s only when she turns around, and her chest brushes against his, that Lance understands how close he is standing.

He doesn’t step back, not even when she looks up expectantly at him behind her glasses, almost frowning. From this close, her scent is overwhelming, sweet and warm.

Lance bites his lower lip because he doesn’t know if she’d like to be compared to Sunday morning breakfast. Especially not after he’d already pulled the You-Remind-Me-Of-My-Mum card.

The automatic lights of the landing go out all at once, leaving them dangerously close and in the dim light of a rainy evening.

He likes to think all these situations the two of them get shoved in by fate together, are just the universe’s way of telling him he’s doing fine, so far. All the right things, keep going, buddy.

Pidge’s breath steadies Lance wonders if kissing her now would be a good idea.

He’s about to ask for her permission when she clears her throat, lightly.

Too soon, then.

“Just to warn you: it’s going to be a bit messy, inside,” she says, softly, and her voice makes him wanna scream. “I don’t have many visitors, and when I do, it’s people who usually accept me for the slob I am.”

Lance lets out a chuckle. For a moment he thinks he’s lost his touch, but he recovers rather quickly.

“I think I’ll be fine, don't worry.”

She laughs, too, making her body tremble and bounce against his, before turning back to the door.

Her frame stills once again but the soft gasp she lets out tells him this time is not his fault.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m pretty sure I locked the door this morning,” she says, a little alarmed.

“You must have forgotten,” he puts there, trying to reassure her.

“Yeah, probably.”

They step in and she turns the lights on. Lance’s mouth quirks on one sides, eyes narrowed.

“This doesn’t look messy to me,” he comments, and looks around, because it’s true, this place is the epitome of cleanness and tidiness.

A little sober, maybe, but definitely not messy.

“It wasn’t like this when I left,” Pidge gapes, confused.

“Maybe your fellow mice and doves did this while you were out?”

She elbows him in the hip. “I’m serious, Lance, someone got in.”

To confirm her suspicions, a loud noise irrupts their banter from another room.

Pidge’s eyes widen in shock as she grasps the sleeve of his jacket.  

“They’re in my bedroom!” she exclaims, her voice a high-pitched squeak.

Lance acts by instinct.

He grabs an umbrella from a corner and places himself in front of her, ignoring the glower she gives him. He hears his sister Johanna’s voice in his ear screaming something about _igualidad de género_ in her usual fashion, and he ignores that, too, because Lance is convinced chivalry has nothing to do with gender.

He bends his arms up, wielding the umbrella like a baseball bat. “I can’t believe you’re the only person whose house gets taken over and lowlife leaves in better shape than it was before they came in.”

Pidge places her tiny hands at his hips and slowly guides him towards what he imagines is her bedroom.

If he wasn’t so worried about their safety, he’d be thrilled.  
  
  
  
**7:00pm**  
  
Pidge should be terrified about the house invasion, but she isn’t.

She shouldn’t be racking her brain around an almost kiss that never happened, but she is.

There must be something wrong with her.

Her pinky fingers brush Lance’s hipbones, his heart is beating so fast it echoes in his ribcage so she can feel it on her palms, too.

Okay, he was about to kiss her, so what?

People kiss all the time.

Not Pidge and not all the time, but other people do.

Lance does, probably.

Then why didn’t he kiss her?

The door is slightly parted and it’s only when they reach it and a disturbing muffling comes from inside, that Pidge’s self-preservation instinct finally kicks in.

She hears Lance hold his breath, his hands clenching and unclenching around the handle of the umbrella. He searches for her eyes. She nods her head yes, sweating in her stained dress.

Lance kicks the door open with the tip of his foot and Pidge feels the awful need to let out a yell, but suppresses it in favor of a jumbled

The thief wears basic nude stockings and pearls, and is hunched against the hazelnut wood wardrobe.

And since this is apparently the most disastrous date in the history of dates, the thief also happens to be Pidge’s mum.

When she sees them in that aggressive pose, she lets out a screech and stands back up immediately, bringing a guilty hand to her chest. “Oh, kid, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

Without tearing her eyes away from her mother, Pidge grabs Lance’s forearm and lowers his arms that are still stuck midair. “Hello, I live here. Do we need to have that talk about privacy, again?” Pidge slides her hands behind her glasses and rubs her eyes with the heel of her palms. “How did you even get in?”

“It’s not what you think,” her mum says, sweetly. “We’re having the Hamiltons over for dinner, tonight, and I need the casserole I lent you last week and you weren’t answering your phone. I knew you weren’t home so I used the key you gave me.”

“That’s for emergencies only.”

“This was an emergency,” her mother smacks her hands together, giving her one full look. “What happened to your dress?”

“Some jerk made her spill her coffee.”

She hears Lance snort out a laugh and she turns to him, mortified.

Colleen reacts the same way, only her smile is less exasperated. She chuckles, throatily. “You must be Lance.”

“Nice to meet you, Mrs Holt,” Lance says, politely and a little flirty, doffing the umbrella hat-like. When his eyes travel back to Pidge’s face, they’re gentle and playful. “At least she remembers my name.”

He leans over the doorjamb, hands in his pockets as she gets dirtier every minutes and he and his mum exchange pleasantries and pie recipes. Pidge doesn’t even roll her eyes, because if there’s someone who can make a situation like this appear completely normal, that’s him.

“I’m sure Lance can’t wait to know how cleaning my house got in the way of your casserole hunt, mum,” Pidge gestures to the perfectly made bed, sarcastically, but then she remembers something and her eyes grow sharp. “How did you know I wasn’t home?”

Her mum makes a face, as if she was considering lying for a bit, but here’s a thing about Colleen Holt that not many people know about: she only says the truth.

It’s a gift and a curse that Pidge doesn’t seem to have inherited.

“Matt said me you had a date with a guy from that band you like,” she says, as if it was nothing. “Nurse Jacobs told your father you two barely know each other, so I didn’t expect you guys to come back here so soon.”

Pidge’s face drains of blood because if it’s true that her mother can’t keep a lie, it’s also true that she can’t tell when the things she’s saying are inappropriate. “Mum, please.”

“I know,” the older woman protests, folding and abandoning the rag on the shelf. “I know, you’re an adult. I have accepted that long ago.”

“Glad to know you’re aware,” Pidge replies, chagrined, and points her thumbs to her bathroom door. “Look, mum, don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate what you did here, but

I’m gonna go clean up quickly now, so Lance and I can go back to our thing.”

The older woman nods and takes the door, smiling at Lance as she steps past him. “I’ll go get the casserole.”

A silence fills the air. Pidge doesn’t even know where to start filling it.

There are so many things she wants to ask him, it’s like time is never enough.

“I’m sorry,” she says, finally, after a deep breath, going with the first thing that has been bugging her mind since they got caught together in the elevator.

Lance shrugs, amused. “Your mum’s cool. I hope I’ll get to meet your father, too. I’m one Holt away from getting the big plushy.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Pidge’s head keeps shaking, slowly. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you yesterday. I was a real dick when we first met.”

“You sure can give great first impressions.”

“Yeah, that sounds like me,” she admits, biting at her nails. “In case you haven’t noticed, I wasn’t joking when I said I’m not very good with people and, well, you’re a little different in person.”

She avoids telling him that she likes him being here, in her room. It’s a little awkward, too, but Pidge doesn’t mind the raw feelings. She wants the full experience, the trip in its entirety.

Blinking back into awareness, she notices him stepping farther.

“I’ll leave you to your shower, now,” he informs her.

 “I think there’s soda in the fridge. Make yourself at home, but don’t touch my stuff,” she warns, pushing her glasses up her nose. “And don’t believe anything my mum is going to say. She’s a huge liar,” she lies.

That’s raw feelings, too.  
  
  
**7:09pm**  
  
The bedroom door clicks behind his back and Lance puts the umbrella back where he’s found it, feeling like he’s just dodged a bullet.

Now that he has the time to look at his surroundings, he discovers that not only Pidge is even a huger nerd that he thought, she’s also very passionate about her stuff.

At least three shelves of her living room are dedicated to comic books.

On the remnant one, shoved in between a pile of med school books and an HTGAWM dvd boxset, there are at least a dozen action figures and he swears there’s a twelve-inch stuffed Batman looking at him from behind a Graceland snowball.

It’s like unwrapping a present, getting to know her little by little, by small objects that represent her.

He feels a little intimidated, because there’s an entire life they’ve spent apart and there are too many information to achieve all at once.

There’s also the fact that he thought he was the one who was supposed to keep an army of fans away from his date, today. In reality, he’s had enough encounters with Pidge’s fan club to last for a lifetime, in a handful of hours.

And this? This is even worse, because family is involved.

He’s had his problems with dads, but mothers usually adore him.

“This place could look a little more homey, don’t you think?” Mrs Holt asks, fixing a framed picture. “Some curtains, a carpet.” _  
_

“Fresh flowers?” he offers, and when she nods, complacent, his shoulder finally relax. “I should have brought her some when I met her at the clinic, but I forgot on my way there.”

It’s a lie. He never thought about bringing anything with him when he’s left the loft on Shiro’s Volvo’s passenger seat, but he wants to make a good impression.

There’s something hidden behind Mrs Holt’s refined posture that intimidates him. Her eyes are sweet, but clear _: you hurt my daughter, and I’ll send you on a non-return rocketship trip to Mars.  
_

It’s both scary and adorable, like the fact that Pidge owns a Jurassic Park poster and that it’s hanged over her faux-leather sofa.

“Katie doesn’t care about all that stuff, anyway. She’s more practical, like her father. Have you met my husband, yet?” Lance does no-no with his head and keeps himself from pointing out that, at this speed, it’s going to happen soon, whether he wants it or not. “He could recite all the names to the bones in the human body in one minute, but he can’t remember an anniversary to save his life.”

Lance offers an indulgent smile.

One of the things he likes the most about Pidge is that she isn’t demanding, she just likes his company and he’s got plenty to give.

But then Mrs Holt tells him that maybe their problem –Pidge and her father’s- is that they’re not easily surprised by things in general, and it leaves him thinking.

It’s terrific what comes out when he’s driven by feelings.

“Mrs Holt, I’m leaving for a moment,” he says, rushing to the door.

She follows him with her eyes and a scowl. “Are you going to be back?”

“Absolutely,” he declares.

“Don’t forget your umbrella. It looks like it’s going to rain.”

“It’s not mine.”

Mrs Holt seems impressed because she waves him goodbye when he runs downstairs.  
  
  
**7:34pm**  
  
She let him drive.

Lance didn’t care that he’s too tall and big for the driver seat and now his head bumps against the hood every time he drives over a hole.

Between a suppressed sigh and another, Pidge wonders when she’s finally lost it for good.

When she tells him that him being behind the wheel is basically the Pidge equivalent of a marriage proposal, he thinks she’s joking, but she’s not.

Pidge laughs it off with him, anyway. She can do without doubts for a few more hours.

He’s an awful pilot, just like she’s imagined. He gesticulates too much with his hands  and rarely follows the speed limits, but she is enjoying the trip.

Lance makes everything easy, even aquaplaning over puddles. Even the storm of emotions inside of her that she can’t control nor understand. It’s one of the many things that she just can’t resist about him.

The road rolls before them.

She gazes down, over her lap. She can’t stop smirking at the tiny cactus wrapped in her hands, remembering how Lance had shoved it under her nose after she’d remerged from her shower.

“Thanks again for this,” she says, lifting the succulent, chin buried in the collar of her coat. “You didn’t have to get me anything, but it was very gentlemanly of you.”

“It was actually your mum who gave me the idea, and the flower shop was just around the corner,” he says, smugly, jerking that annoying chin in her direction. “I still don’t understand why you had to bring it with you, but I’m glad you liked it so much.”

Pidge sighs. “And to think I thought you were an asshole before we met.”

He parks the car in front of a small diner squeezed between a psychic and a sewing supplies store.

“What about now?” he teases, narrowing his eyes. “Still an asshole?”

“Still an asshole,” Pidge says, “But a good one.”

He chuckles warmly. “Wow. Can you believe it was just yesterday.”

“It seems longer, doesn’t it?”

It seems longer, indeed. If it wasn’t for the way her stomach clenches every time she looks at him, Pidge would tell she’s enjoying a day out with an old pal.

The night is still young.  
  
  
**7:42pm**  
  
Pidge is incredibly pretty tonight.

Back at home, she’s worn rolled up jeans and an oversized pink sweater, hair down and thick.

Her face is bare because she’s traded her glasses for contacts, and she’s clearly either in love with him or not used to them because she keeps batting her eyelids and her eyes seem always a little glittery.

The diner is nothing pretentious, perfectly in tune with their dynamics.

Customers peek at them, some more subtle than others. Pidge notices and blushes lightly.

Lance tries to ignore it, for the most part, fooling himself into thinking they’re only watching because he and Pidge are an attractive young couple.

Except the stares remain, and they’re not an actual a couple.

A bouncy waiter takes their orders. Their drinks arrive suspiciously fast and Pidge dives into hers like a thirsty dog.

Lance checks his phone, shows Pidge a picture of his nephew and niece then subtly asks her for her number. 

Five minutes later, he is in the middle of telling her the story of how some kid had stolen his wallet at the laser tag game, when a girl with cornrows and her giggly friend, approach their table for a picture.

Pidge witnesses to the whole scene in silence, munching on a breadstick, consciously keeping herself on the sides. He looks at her when the girls brandish their phones and expect him to smile.

When they leave, she’s smirking around the straw of her chocolate smoothie.

“Sorry about that,” he apologizes, sitting back in front of her. “I can’t promise it won’t happen again.”

“I don’t mind it,” she tilts her head to the side and stares mindlessly outside the glass window. Her elbows are planted on planted on the table when she goes back to their previous conversation. “I’ve never been to the laser tag game.”

Lance thanks the waiter as he leaves their fuming orders with a curious glance. “There’s one just outside the highway. We should go, you’d love it.”

She steals a few fries for herself from his plate and shoves them in her mouth. “After dinner?”

“We have a plan,” he clinks his Coke against her glass and outside, the bolt of a lighting turns the night to day. “Aw, bummer. The rain’s back.”

“It’s good for our planet,” she replies, praying ketchup all over her meal. “Drought is a real issue, you know.”

“You’re such a nerd.”

She shows him her middle finger and licks salt off her lips, tempting him without even knowing it.

They eat quickly and split dessert, both too excited for their next activity.

Lance is also very excited by the perspective of spending more quality time with someone who isn’t a relative. Someone capable of setting him off with one single glance.

He lets her take the last bite of Cookies cake, pushing it on her side of the plate with his spoon, like in Lady and the Tramp.  
  
  
**8:14pm**  
  
They split the bill and Lance signs a couple more autographs.

When he diner’s door closes with a chime, he hands her her car keys, rubs his stomach with an open palm and burps rather proudly. For someone whose sex appeal had been compared to Oscar Isaac’s, he surely knows how to put rumors to rest.

Pidge takes the keys and gives herself a moment to appreciate the profile of his shoulders against the night. Lance is busy looking at his left, the psychic’s neon sign flashing red on his face OPEN and then COME IN.

He looks like a kid up to all sorts of mischief. “Should we?”

“A fortune teller?” Pidge asks, folding up the sleeves of her coat. “How much more cliché can you get?”

He scoffs her off. “Don’t be like that. It’s interesting.”

“Please don’t tell me you believe in that stuff.”

“You own sixteen books about UFOs conspiracy theories,” Lance points out immediately, as if he’d expected her reaction.

“I knew you’d snoop around! Also, that’s different,” she explains, poking him right in the chest when his eyes start rolling. “It’s totally possible for life to have developed on other planets. And it’s even more possible that aliens decide to regularly visit Earth, with our resources and all.”

“Thanks for the lesson, Bill Nye,” he beams, scrunching up his nose. “Aren’t you a little curious?”  

Pidge decides to indulge him, but only because he’s really cute when he does that thing with his face. “What should I be curious about?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Your future. Your love life, stuff like that.”

“I don’t think I’d like to know about my future, and I don’t have a love life worthy of the name,” she admits, voice quiet. “I’m not into this, but what if I did? What if the psychic told me my future and it was terrible? I’d spend the rest of my days anxious and depressed over things that haven’t happened yet.”

Pidge can tell Lance is keeping himself from pouting. “But what if it was nice, instead?”

“Well, in that case, I’d like it to be a surprise,” she explains, grinning.

“I can’t believe you ruined it.”

In that moment Pidge decides she doesn’t care what’s going to happen between them. Whether they stay just friends or never see each other again, she knows this is one of those situations in which all parts gain something. Probably not at the same time or at the same amount, but they’re definitely not going to part ways empty-handed.

She swallows a couple times and looks deep into his blue eyes thinking that maybe she deserves this. Maybe he’s her surprise, and maybe, but just maybe, she can be his.  
  
  
**8:37pm**  
  
The laser tag game takes place in an abandoned theater, nearly converted into an exaggerated imitation of a post-apocalyptic New York’s Southside scenario. When they step inside, the techno music is so loud that Lance feels his teeth clench in time with the rhythm. 

The goth girl at the desk provides them appropriate equipment and a flyer with the game rules that Pidge insists on studying accurately, no matter how much of an uptight loser Lance claims she looks all concentrated like that.

It’s Strike Out Night, an elimination match, which means it’s everybody vs everybody. You get hit trice, you’re out for good.

Lance chivalrously suggests they team up, since it’s her first time, and although she makes a point by reminding him her game skills are better than her relational ones, Pidge accepts.

He finds out pretty soon that she was right and his worries are unnecessary.

Pidge is a natural. She gets in the game almost immediately, screaming surprised at the siren that signals the start of the match.

Lance hits more targets, but Pidge is sharp and choreographic, and is always focused on the task.

Aside from them, there are a group of teenagers and the suspiciously sober members of a bachelor party.

Fifteen minutes in, and half the opponents are out. Lance is used to playing with Hunk, but he and Pidge work well together and, even if they’ve both got hit twice already, they hang in there with five other people. 

“What if only the two of us are left?” she pants, running.

“We pull a Hunger Games and rebel against the system,” he replies, bending his shotgun over her head.

They turn the corner of a brick wall, hands joining in silent agreement, because it’s easy to get lost in the chaos of the terrifying music that comes out from the speakers.  A nod of his head and Pidge slides at his side, in the dark and under the stroboscopic lights. They hide behind a fake collapsed column, back on back, weapons pressed to their chests.

Two guys run past them. Lance holds his breath, Pidge’s shoulder blades nailed in the middle of his back.

“Are you having fun?” Lance shouts, trying to prevail the noise.

“What?” she yells back.

He turns to her briefly, chin brushing the tip of her ear, checking the surroundings in the meantime. “I said: are you having fun?”

Lance hears her laugh over the music and it’s the only answer he needs.

A man in his early thirty with a tie knotted on the forehead Rambo-style, locates them during their attempt to leave their hiding spot.

His aim is not even that good, but he almost catches Lance on his first try.  Pidge shoves him away and he lands on his side. She ducks in, avoiding a hail of gunfire and shooting back with clenched jaws.

A loud f bomb comes from the man and a bell sound informs the whole place she was his third strike.

Pidge bends on her knees and towards Lance who’s still crawling the floor. Her chestpad glows blue and white, her tone urged by the doctor instinct. “Are you okay, Lance?”

“My stomach hurts a little.”

“I think that doesn’t depend on the fall. You shouldn’t have eaten all those chicken nuggets.”

“And you should keep your-PIDGE, WATCH OUT!”

He tries to push her aside but she falls in his lap, her hair flying in the air.

The lights change, again in time with the music. Tun-tun-tun and her face goes white, then blue, then green. Her temples are shiny with a thin layer of sweat, cheeks hot and red. She looks alive, larger than life and a little alien.

“Well, I guess we’re even now.” Pidge’s tiny teeth glow purple as she smirks and her words vibrate through his ribs. “And we should get up. It’s not actually hygienic down here.”

Lance agrees but he can’t move because his body have different thoughts. It’s not even entirely sexual, it’s more about the way her curves fit perfectly into his. He thinks she shouldn’t be looking at him like this, not while she’s all sprawled on his chest like this, no-no.

She goes to stand up, panting, but his arm moves faster and it’s already around her waist. Her eyes soften lightly, they understand what his next move is gonna be.

If she stops me now, he thinks, it means I overstepped a line.

She quashes all his questions away by skidding further so that her nose brushes his and the palm of her hands are heavy over his collarbones.

Just a little push and, at the end of the day, he might end up kissing one the most amazing people he’s ever met.

“Get a room, losers!” someone screams and then they hear the bells.

Literal bells.

Pidge is the first to get hit, immediately followed by Lance. Their chest-pads flash repeatedly yellow and green.

They’re both still a little fuzzy so it takes them a few seconds to realize that they’re out and it was by the hand of an angry teen with buckteeth.

Lance and Pidge share a look. It turns out less amused than he thought it would look, because the air is still charged. The moment is still on.

Pidge doesn’t lose time and, before he can mourn the loss of her weight between his arms, she grabs him by the cuff of his shirt and helps him stand with her.

They turn back the borrowed stuff and retrieve the jackets.

“Come with me,” Pidge says and he follows her and her beautiful hungry eyes. He’d follow her anywhere, right now.

Outside, it started raining again.

Lance wears his hood up. Pidge reaches out, pulling it over his eyes, leaving him in the dark for a tick, then lets out a screech and scampers to her car.

He catches her by the wrist and spins her around herself, as if they were dancing, before she has the time to find the keys.

It’s now or never, right?

And so he closes his eyes, says a silent prayer and pulls her in.  
  
  
**9:13pm**  
  
The soft rain is everywhere, it crawls through her lips and she can taste it on his mouth.

Pidge angles her head and deepens the kiss, tentative, hair soaking and heart shaking.

Her chest goes warm and tickly like a physical fatality, like it says in Halsey’s song.

It’s one of those things that needed to happen.

At some point, tongue and teeth join the game, leaving her a little stunned by how pleasant the feeling is. Lance plants his feet firmly on the slippery ground and pushes her up so that their knees are touching and her whole back is pressed over her car side.

It’s a good, long and sloppy kiss, definitely better than the poor attempt of CPR he’d flaunted yesterday. Pidge would like it to last forever, until questions start spiking and roaming around in the back of her brain. Even if she can’t tell for sure, she’s almost certain Lance feels the same way, because his lips won’t cease the contact and he holds on to her breaths as if they were his own.

Pidge relaxes against him, against the wet steel, losing it completely to the last person she’d expected to give her this kind of shivers.

Lance parts first with raindrops trickling down the bridge of his nose and his warm, big hands traveling up and down her lower back. She hooks his thigh with one of her calves to keep him there as their eyes meet midair.

Lance reaches out his hands and wipes the skin under her eyes with both his thumbs.

“Your make up’s all messed up,” he grimaces, lips swollen and satisfied. “You look like a baby panda bear.”

She jokingly punches him in the chest then brushes mascara off with the cuff of her coat.

In that moment, a group of teens in their colored slickers and bicycles, invade the parking lot with their shouting.

One of them scrappily abandons his mountain bike right behind Pidge’s car, so it will be impossible for them to leave.

Lance clears his throat. “Excuse me.”

The insolent kid looks at them and stops with his feet deep in a puddle.

“Hey, you’re that guy from that band!” he says, unashamed, and when Lance nods, he adds with a lisp: “Your songs suck.”

Button-pressed, Lance crosses his eyes. “You suck!”

“Not as much as your band,” the boy calls out, twisting the knife, as he proceed calmly for the theater door.

Lance’s jaw drops and Pidge barely holds back a laugh.

“Kids these days,” she starts sympathetic, fishing a pack of cinnamon flavored gums from her pocket, handing him one. “That was really rude.”

“It was,” Lance agrees, rubbing his cheek. “Let’s move this thing and leave.”

“Or…” Pidge’s eyes run back and forth to him and the boy’s bycicle, a plan already forming in her mind. “I just remembered I owe you more than dinner and coffee.”

Lance’s brow furrows as he chews on the gum, his lashes damp and black. “I don’t like that look in your eyes.”

Pidge laughs and her lungs ache a little. Tomorrow she’s going to wake up with a flu.

She hopes he won’t mind a little contagion when she props on her tips to steal one more kiss for the road.  
  
  
**10:08pm**  
  
A moan escapes Pidge’s lips and it echoes in the dark alley. “Not so fast.”

“I don’t know where to put my feet.”

“You’re doing it wrong, Lance. Put your hand on my shoulder.”

He groans. “You just said to wrap it around here.”

“The other one.”

“They’re probably going to arrest me. I can already see the tabloids talking about it.”

“Nobody’s going to see us. This alley is desert.”

“Allura is going to make me clean the bathroom for the next ten years.”

“Don’t worry, we’re going to get this back once we’re done,” she says, nodding her head to the bicycle they’ve _borrowed_.

He doesn’t know how but, ten minutes after he’s been once again bullied by a kid at the laser tag game, he’s found himself clumsily trying to ride a ~~stolen~~ bike under a pouring sky, as if his life depended on it, only because Pidge told him he could do it.

Lance has never hated anything like he hates bicycles and they’re complex gears, but he doesn’t stop, even when his knees tremble, unused to the movement. Pidge adores it when his feet slip from the pedals and he stumbles over the handlebar, so he goes on and makes a complete fool out of himself only to hear her laugh like this.

And, let’s be honest, he’d rather eat grasshopper skewers for the rest of his life than let a challenge slip away.

A muffled music comes from the surrounding buildings, Pidge keeps her hand on the seat, right beside his butt and cheers for him when he manage the first turn without tripping.

He’s about to achieve the basics, when the rain thickens. Pidge tells him they’ll have to postpone the lesson and helps him put the bicycle back in its place before hiding in her car.

She shivers on the driver seat. Lance notices her stir when she bends to turn the heat on and sees the time. “Is it really that late?”

“Do you need to go back?” he asks, cupping his hands around the vent.

“I probably should,” _Not that I want to_ is implicit. “I have class early in the morning. Do you need a ride home?”

“I could take a cab.”

Lance looks at her, she looks away. “I don’t mind driving.”

He adds his address to GPS and, when they leave the parking lot, he puts his hand over the one she’s got wrapped around the stick, humming a tune under his breath.

They don’t talk much, but silence with Pidge is very relaxing.

She wisely stalls the car a few houses away and he points his index to a white building in front of which are positioned at least four photographers. Their fingers are still linked.

The storm is finally over, the sky has gone clear and starred.

He climbs down the car, slowly, reluctantly, and he doesn’t kiss her goodbye even if he’s dying to, because at this point, it would un-break the magic.

If she’s disappointed, she doesn’t show it. When his limbs start to ache at the thought of Pidge leaving, Lance is under the impression that he’s made a huge, unrecoverable mistake.

“Do you want to come in?” Lance asks, head peeking at the car door “You’ll need to sneak in from the backyard, but I could lend you dry clothes if you’re cold. I think Keith and Hunk are still awake. They’ll be happy to see you.”

“No, I’m good. Thanks for today, I really needed it.”

“Me, too. I’ll call you, okay?”

“You don’t have to do this, you know. We had fun, but I’d understand if it ended tonight,” she says, with a gloomy smile.

The saddest thing is that Lance is not ready for the day to end but he understands, too.

Dating is not an easy thing for him. Work alone makes it impossible for him and his partner to create a routine and, most of the time, he is a pro at ruining it all.

“Pidge,” he says, heart clenching. “I really don’t want to hurt you.”

The corners of her mouth twitch. “You say that like it couldn’t be me hurting you.”

Lance agrees, nodding his head. It’s the first thing he’s thought about, Pidge wrecking him like a precarious tower.

She waves one of her hands, her amber eyes tired and filled with warmth.

 “It won’t be easy,” he calls, through the open window. “But I’m in if you are.”

“I know,” she turns the car on. Her hair is all frizzy when she glances at him, both white-knuckled hands wrapped around the wheel. “Let’s take it slow.”

He won't let her see how much this scares him. If there'll be midnight scars and wounds,  he'll lick them in private. “Drive safe,” he whispers, and she goes away in the night.

He lasts eighty seconds, then he texts her first, thumbs fidgeting over the screen of his phone. Even his own body knows he won’t be able to stay away.  
  
  
  
  
_BONUS SCENE_  
  
**5:16am**  
  
“What do you mean, _DON’T FREAK OUT_ _THERE’S PICTURES OF US ON THE INTERNET_?”

**Author's Note:**

> "Did she just use an over-used trope like the kiss in the rain one," they all asked themselves, questioning the writer's skills.
> 
> It was my birthday, yesterday. Please, be nice and leave feedback.
> 
> Constructive criticism and eventual complains are highly appreciated and welcomed, as long as you keep it polite.
> 
> (Legends say I have a tumblr. Come find me @/lancemccutie)


End file.
